


this will be (an everlasting love)

by joisattempting



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Diners, Eating Disorders, First Meetings, M/M, Running Away, i hate the title but i finished this at one am bear with me, might as well just title this marvin’s tragic backstory, pls don’t hate it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joisattempting/pseuds/joisattempting
Summary: on their anniversary, marvin thinks about the day he met whizzer brown.
Relationships: Whizzer Brown/Marvin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	this will be (an everlasting love)

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt “write a story where chocolate cake plays a significant role.”
> 
> hello!! welcome to this thing i had the idea of doing while trying to figure out what to do with this prompt that a friend suggested i do out of the ones i sent her lmao
> 
> before we get into it, i just want to say that the college au is taking a hiatus. i just don’t have as much motivation for it as i used to, and thus it gets harder to update frequently. so, for now i’ll be posting spontaneous oneshots until i’m ready to give college au a go again. i hope you understand :)
> 
> until then, i hope you enjoy this!! comments and kudos really do make me happy <3
> 
> tw : eating disorders, bad families & home environment

“Happy anniversary, gorgeous,” 

Fondly, Marvin looked down at his boyfriend, whose shoulders his arm was currently wrapped around. The couple were sprawled out on the grey couch in the living room, that had been the unfortunate witness to a copious amount of their endeavours. Both were grateful that sofas were not, in fact, animate objects. Because if this one could utter words, it would have humiliating tales aplenty to tell about the intimate pair that claimed ownership over it. Beyond the paneled window was a hushed twilight; not silent, but with an intermittent incensed shout or snippet of deafening music that should most certainly not be played at an hour such as this one, rather like the background coughs one could hear at a failing standup comedy show. At eleven fifty-three PM on Thursday night, the city was quiet, but not completely mute. Meek, but it reminded Whizzer and Marvin every so often that it was there. Just the way they liked it. 

Whizzer stabbed at his slice of cake with the fork, shoveling another piece into his mouth. “You did good this year, asshole,”

Marvin scoffed in mock offence, giving the taller man a light smack upside the head. “Is that all I get? An ‘asshole’? After I call you gorgeous and buy a fucking chocolate cake? Which was actually kind of expensive, mind you,”

Swallowing, the photographer smirked. He only shrugged, ingesting more of the cake his lover bought. He’d had about three slices at that point, and showed no sign of stopping. Of course, since they were celebrating twelve years since their first ‘meet cute’ (as they lovingly called it now, as fully-grown adult men), it came as no surprise to Marvin, who’d eaten a grand total of two. He had an insanely light stomach, for a heartbreaking reason that neither man liked to think, much less talk about. But April twenty-third wasn’t a day for dejection, although, they both realised years later, a lot of their first meeting was based off of it. “Sorry. You did good this year, baby,” Whizzer said, momentarily setting down his fork to take his lover’s hand in his. 

Believe it or not, the cake had become a tradition. It had to be chocolate, or else the entire day could go down the drain. It had been the basis, the seedling that started their first proper interaction. The seedling of a relationship, that had grown, blossomed, died, then returned from the land of the deceased. The dessert that united two high school seniors: the baseball player and the questionable, sick, timid art kid that played the trombone. Opposite ends of the spectrum, that was for sure. That thrust the former into a whirlwind of colours and new friends and second thoughts in terms of sexuality and _disorders._ Even as they grew older, starting college life at NYU, majoring in pre-law and photography, they jokingly celebrated by getting a cake and watching Trina’s old cassette tapes of Shirley Temple movies. After they began dating subsequent to the revelation that said owner of the cassette tapes was pregnant with Marvin’s child, they never broke tradition. Whizzer’s favourite part was that regardless of whatever life chose to throw at them, they always had an event to look forward to every year. An event that brought peace for one whole day.

“That’s better,” Marvin laughed goodnaturedly. He gave his boyfriend a small smile, blue gazing into brown as if his boyfriend’s eyes were attics spilling with cherished memories. “God, do you remember the first time we met? At Dee’s mom’s diner?”

“No. It’s not like we have a day to celebrate it or anything,” Whizzer cracked a smile. Not a half-hearted, small one, not a smirk, but a genuine smile. The one that perfectly reflected his innermost feelings when he was within ten feet of Marvin Feldman. When they lazed around in bed on Saturday mornings, sleepily cuddling as the sun poked its orange head out from behind the hilltops and mountains and towering skyscrapers. When they wore so many layers that their arms felt stiff as they made the trudge through the cloudy winter, stupid smiles on their faces and laced hands swinging between themselves as a juxtaposition to the sorrowful weather. When a stern-faced Marvin quarantined his drunk boyfriend to their two-person bed, sighing and holding a water glass up to Whizzer’s lips as he giggled mindlessly and ate strange amounts of cookies. Marvin always made scrambled eggs in the morning, just as he’d done in college all those years ago. “Of course I remember. This wrist was the size of a fucking baby’s,”

Marvin flinched. 

“But I’m glad it’s not like that anymore,”

The lawyer managed a smile. “Me too,” he said softly. “Eat your cake. No more after this one,”

“Fuck you,”

  
  


_MONDAY, APRIL TWENTY-THIRD, 2007_

  
  


_Eighteen-year-old Marvin Alexander Feldman took pride in keeping a lucid, stoic exterior. Yes, he was defiant, and neurotic, and could argue until the cows came home, but you hand to hand it to him. He had the world’s greatest poker face. But it was difficult to stay expressionless when his mind attempted to grapple with the weight of what he’d just done. A ratty overnight bag played dead at his feet while he basked in the warmth of Thompson’s, the fifties-style diner located ten minutes away. He had no intention of going home. But if not back to the neat house in the suburbs, then where? For a quietly-analytical guy, he really hadn’t thought this whole ‘running away’ thing all too thoroughly._

_He had good reason to, he supposed. Frankly, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t done it years ago. But here he was; a hundred and sixty-four pounds at eighteen years old, and able to encircle his wrist with two fingers and still leave space. Apparently it wasn’t enough. All the signs, all the symptoms weren’t enough to make everything screech to a halt. If you compared his freshman school picture to his senior one, one could think two different people had been photographed. He wanted it to stop - it didn’t exactly please him that someone could count the vertebrae in his spine when he bent over, and the fact that the old clothes he could fit into during middle school were now what he wore everyday as a young adult disturbed him. As did the nightly lectures, the metal scale in his bedroom, that glared accusingly up at him when he tentatively stepped on it every dreaded morning. His thin pillow was squeaky clean, due to the amount of times he’d sobbed into it, with only his dim bedside lamp for company. Problem was, he didn’t know how to stop, per se. He couldn’t just start eating normally again, after years of deprivation and scrutiny. A yogurt pot could sit inside him for days at this rate._

_“Why don’t you come and eat this cake with me, instead of making eyes at it from all the way over there?” a voice said, somewhat coldly._

_Marvin snapped out of his reverie, immediately cringing. The slicked hair and oversized letterman jacket could only mean one thing. Whizzer Brown. Captain and batter on the high school baseball team, who’d also managed to snatch the lead in Fiddler on the Roof out of Marvin’s hands. Was the guy even Jewish? Word on the street said he was half. You’d be surprised at the information Marvin had on the kids at his run-down high school. If they knew he had all this stowed away in that brain of his, he’d be the most popular guy at that godforsaken place. People would follow him like tails so he didn’t let any secrets slip. Petty students would vy and beg for information to use against enemies. And Marvin would smile that sickly-sweet smile he’d perfected, and tell them absolutely nothing._

_Gee, wouldn’t it be nice._

_Had he been staring? He didn’t know what he was doing at this point - the lightheadedness that had come of not eating since the previous day had kicked in, especially after taking a chemistry midterm on an empty stomach. His mother didn’t believe that people needed sustenance so their bodies could function and brains could focus. If he studied enough, he could ignore the hunger pangs and snag the A that his mother would go ballistic at him for if he didn’t get. At least, that was her logic. No sympathy from his father or perfect little brother, either. As for the test, his brain cells felt like they were asleep and he’d almost dropped to the floor midway through, but other than that, he had a feeling that his mother would be pacified._

_“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being fucking hungry, because guess what? My parents don’t fucking feed me, Whizzer Brown. Of course, you wouldn’t know. I’m sure you’re the golden child, the poster boy who’s on the baseball team and played Tevye last year. I’m sorry for not being a privileged idiot like you are,”_

_The diner had grown eerily silent. Oh, fuck._

_A beat. Another._

_Then, “Sorry. I-I didn’t know it was like that,”_

_“It’s fine,” Marvin mumbled curtly._

_“No it’s not. Come sit. There’s another chair, and another fork,”_

_They sat across from each other. Marvin picked at the slice of chocolate cake on the table, scooping a miniscule piece onto his fork and tipping it into his mouth. He couldn’t really taste anything, perhaps because he’d eaten a piece about the size of his fingernail, or his tastebuds had retired early since his refusal of food. Instead, he watched Whizzer shove bite after bite down his throat, and almost laughed. Almost. Who’d have thought that the greatest baseball player in the bunch could eat like a pig, to put it realistically. Amazed and kind of fascinated, Marvin cut into the cake, ending up with a piece a little larger than the one he’d just ingested on his fork._

_“What’s with the…” Whizzer trailed off as he swallowed some more cake. “The overnight bag?”_

_Well, he had just told him his fucking sob story. “I’m running away. What’s it to you?”_

_“Oh shit. That, uh, makes sense,”_

_“Glad it could stick in that empty head of yours,” the boy said under his breath._

_Beat._

_“Sorry,”_

_Nonchalantly, Whizzer waved his hand. “Don’t sweat it,”_

_More silence. It looked like the rusty cogs in Whizzer’s brain were turning, whirring to life. His narrowed eyes flickered from the porcelain plate to Marvin’s gaunt face as he ate, as he tried to make a decision. Underneath the suave, smooth facade, the jock’s heart was crumbling. He knew something wasn’t right about the peculiar kid in his English class from the day his arms began to resemble sticks underneath his knit sweaters that covered his hands. But it was only today, only two minutes ago that the reality of the situation settled in the head that his mother said had been brainwashed by the amount of hair product he used. The guy was running away, for Christ’s sake. Running away meant home was too much. Home was unsafe. Home was pedantic, cutting comments and miniscule portions, if any portions at all. Home was ridicule and pressure. Home wasn’t home._

_And Whizzer could fucking help him. Change his life, even, if he could shove his reputation to the back of his mind for half a second. He could help this guy, whose name he didn’t know. Who walked the halls with his head bowed. Because God knew that whatever this boy’s sorry excuse for a family was like, the Browns held no similarities. Come on, Andrew, don’t be a dick._

_Jesus. Proper name. Shit was getting serious._

_“How old are you?” Whizzer said at length._

_“Eighteen. November. You?” Marvin blurted, voice muffled by the cake in his mouth._

_“Seventeen. August kid,” he said, all in one breath. “I’m Whizzer. Don’t call me Andrew unless you’re my mom or you want your head put on a spike,”_

_Marvin nodded, giving him an appreciative half-smile. He’d only had a measly five bites of the cake, and didn’t feel up to finishing any more. “Marvin. Feldman. Thanks for, um, letting me eat your cake, I guess,”_

_The baseball player ran a hand through his short brown undercut, smiling properly for the first time. Maybe this Marvin Feldman guy wasn’t all that he made himself out to be, hidden behind sarcastic comments and crossed arms. Actually, he wasn’t bad-looking, either. His springy, curly auburn haircut suited his complexion, some sort of fringe falling in front of crystal-blue eyes that looked dead and uninspired. The only factor that sent shivers down Whizzer’s spine was how stupidly thin he was. Long, spindly arms. Legs that rivaled those on a spider. The noticeable dip at his hips, visible even under the mangled maroon hoodie he wore. The sunken-in cheeks, the sickly grey tint to his skin. If he went on, he might just sob right in front of him._

_And so, he made a decision._

_“Get your shit together,”_

_“Why?”_

_“You’re coming with me,”_

_Whizzer smiled when he went to sleep that night. He’d done a good thing. And this was the start of something. Something wonderful and terrible all at once._

  
  


_THURSDAY, APRIL TWENTY-THIRD, 2019_

Marvin replayed the scene in his mind as he lay awake in bed, like a video or song on loop. Although daring and possibly dangerous at the time, he didn’t even know how grateful he was to his younger self for fleeing to the diner. 

“Whizzer?”

“Hm?” a tired voice grumbled, eyes shut as he pulled the covers tighter around him and cuddled closer to his lover. 

“Thank you,”

“Mm, no need t’ thank me,” came the husky voice. “Love you,”

“Love you too, Whizzer,” Marvin said, reaching out the hand that wasn’t playing with his boyfriend’s hair to turn off the bedside lamp. “More than anything, handsome,”

And all because of that goddamn chocolate cake. 

**Author's Note:**

> and that’s it! i really hoped you liked it, please do let me know what you thought, if i missed any triggers, or anything else!


End file.
